Science teacher

Wednesday, February 21, 2018

The Reverend Billy Graham has died.My sister was killed by a Christian missionary who told me it was God's will.Not saying they're connected--not saying they're not.

Gardens die in the fall—without the energy to keep itself
together, a plant falls apart. As the summer sun slides off its altar,
reminding us who reigns, the world around us dies.

Literally.

From a tired garden in October.

Life will return when the sun does, in its glorious ooziness
of critters and plants and archaea and bacteria and fungi and whatever else has
crawled from our common puddle of life eons ago.

I enjoy being part of this oozy thisness, but we only get to play in its rhythms for a short while,
metaphorically for most, literally for some.

If my sister can die, so can you. So can I. And we will, in
due time.

***

I spent part of the afternoon ripping up autumn earth, rich
with life, getting ready for the time when the sun will return. Then I took a walk
along the edge of the bay, whipped up into a brown frenzy by the blow we’ve had
the past couple of days, looking for fossils, reminders of lives long past but
still with a remnant of order, a "fuck off" to the entropy that will eventually
turn even the stoniest fossils back to dust.

I found two, a broken shark tooth and another I could not
identify, and I’ll carry them around a few days until I lose them or give them
away. (My students love fossils as much as I love the idea of fossils, so I’ll
keep collecting them because it gives me pleasure.)

As I walked up the short but steep sandy path back to my
bicycle, passing a ghost crab burrow along the way, I realized, again, just how
lucky I am, doing pretty much what I want to do just about every single day, for no particular reason beyond the joy it brings me.

Two Mile Beach, photo by Leslie Doyle

I break clods of rich sod with my hands, drink hoppy ales, ride on an aging recumbent bicycle the kids think is cool, bang on various stringed instruments, rake up clams from the flats, walk along the edge of the sea, stare at the stars and a galaxy or two at night, share what we know about
the natural world about half my days, and get to walk barefoot until it snows,
and even then sometimes. I live with my best friend, and my kids are decent
adults leading good lives.

Oh, and I get to write long, unedited nonsense, which I have
not done for a little while, about a pointless life, but that, you see, is exactly the point.

Live every day as if it could be your last, and give the
same courtesy to your students, at least while you can. I’m not a bad science
teacher, nor am I a great one, but I pointedly live a happy, pointless life.

Tuesday, February 20, 2018

The tiger lilies and irises are erupting through the earth, again. I like to stare at them.

Time to sow, again. I planted beets in the cold frame--I booted out the previous tenants, an overcrowded plot of kale. (Not really--I simply lifted up the cold frame and plopped it on another section of garden. The kale will do fine.)

I skated, again, first time in years. Mice had taken up residence in the boot, so the skates were not wasted.

I measured the water table level--looks like we're going to be OK this year, but you never know.

I biked to the beach, again, and wandered a little bit looking for fossils--low tide in February often good for that, but found none.

I then settled on a pile of rocks. A few herring gulls eyed me, but we all decided to mind our own business. A beautiful black-backed gull soared within 20 yards of me as I sat, the fool on the hill of rocks jutting into the bay. A second one followed.

I replaced a folding door in the bathroom.

I napped.

I soaked some beer bottles to remove the labels--it's time to bottle some cherry melomel, maybe next week's project.

I pulled the Brussels sprouts, got enough sprouts for dinner, left the stalks for the rabbits who have been gnoshing on the sprouts all winter.

And it's become (bounce) apparent (bounce) about seven years (bounce) too late for this teacher (bounce) that the kids (bounce) who play with balls (bounce bounce bounce) do so because (bounce) they want to.

Not to challenge, not to distract.

Just to bounce the fookin' ball because, well, it's play.
And we're mammals.

Thursday, February 15, 2018

David Knuffke asked a simple question on Facebook recently. Is the benefit of a tool worth its cost? The question has been asked before, and humanfolk have dived into its implications for, well, literally thousands of years.

I've been to a few conferences, and they typically end with "WE'RE GONNA CHANGE THE WORLD!" And then we go home all fired up and go back to what we've always done, for better or worse.

Educon was different--the sessions I attended were not hypothetical woo-woo love-fests. I saw what others were doing, what has been working, and what needs working on. The conversations focused on the possible, on the now, on the work being done.

I've been to a few conferences, and they typically feature education rock stars--personality often trumps pedagogy. Groupies vied for selfies with their favorite silver-haired snakes.

Educon was different--it's not that groupies were not welcome (seems anyone who doesn't mind a healthy dose of criticism is welcome), but there noticeably little fawning (if any). The Science Leadership Academy students ran the show, and not one of them had silver hair (though at least one had a strikingly green mohawk*).

I've been to a few conferences and they typically herd folks like tourist in the White House--you see what the tour guides want you to see when they want you to see it. Nothing is askew, and everything is timed.

We had free rein at the Science Leadership Academy building. We could wander anywhere, and we did. The building looks like mine (and probably yours if you work in a public school). Yes, I saw a broken outlet, but in the same room I got to sit in on an impromptu get together with folks sharing thoughts as the sunlight streamed through the large southern window.

I've been to a few conferences that had a few folks of color and, of course, the requisite panel member (might be gay, might be black, might be some wack-a-doodle with a British accent) who is supposed to cover up a lot of sins, but cannot cover up the original one.

SLA is an intentional community, and Educon reflects this.

I got called out a few times over the weekend, (mostly) gently, and always with reason--for some behaviors I am aware of, a couple of times for things I had not realized. I expected as much, and am grateful for it.

"Mohawk" is a word I use with trepidation-- but I know more about the Pawnee now than I did an hour ago.

Educon does not pay its presenters (besides the swag), and even Chris Lehman, the Principal and founder of SLA, pays to go. The money goes back to the school to support its 1:1 program.